


Touché in the butt

by toutcequonveut



Category: Original Work
Genre: All Alliteration All the Time, Comedy, Enemies to Lovers, Fencing, Horrible Dick Euphemisms, Humor, M/M, Puns & Word Play, Utter ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut/pseuds/toutcequonveut
Summary: Waterspout. Earth shaker. Fire rod. Dong with the wind. Long ago, like, yesterday, Garrett lived in harmony with his partners at the sex arena he frequented after work. Then everything changed when Tristan appeared. Only Garrett, masterful as he was with all activities dick-related, could stop him, but when the audience wanted more, he couldn’t win. Although his skills are great, he has a longschlongway to go before he’s ready to win against Tristan.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Touché in the butt

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote two lines of this on a whim and had such a blast that the rest sprang into creation. Fair warning for copious amounts of wordplay and alliteration.
> 
> No, you are not ready for what you are about to read.
> 
> Proceed anyway.

Garrett was your average middle class man. He stopped by Starbucks every other morning on the way to his office job where he typed for eight hours in front of a computer, each keystroke clicking like the dime it had just earned him. By the end of the day, he accumulated a sizable pile of metaphorical dimes and clocked out to go home, where he heated up a frozen dinner and then engaged in wild sexual encounters at an arena surrounded by a crowd of people cheering for him or his partner of the night.

Wait, what?

Garrett was opening the door to the arena now. It really didn’t _look_ like a setting where wild sex happened, being that it was a tire store by day. But sex arena it was by night. As Garrett walked into the showroom, he was greeted by dozens of people gathered on either side of the large space in the middle. The tires were strategically arranged as seating, though he could see one couple who appeared to have a different idea as to the utility of tires as a sex toy. They made wet smacking sounds as they rolled past him in the opposite direction, their bodies shoved through four consecutive tires to create a rotating sex cocoon. 

Garrett strode forward confidently, ignoring their cries of delight. He was here for a _purpose._ He had no time for such frivolous things as pleasure.

Stepping into the ring, Garrett ripped off his shirt and tie in one smooth motion and cast them aside, the Velcro that attached the sides of the shirt fluttering. He was left in only sleek, fitted dress pants. Making eye contact with his opponent, Garrett slid his hands down and leisurely opened his fly to remove his trousers.

Tristan was the bane of his existence at these events. Garrett didn’t much mind the other contestants, but Tristan was by far his nemesis. The two of them were evenly matched, and the crowd loved seeing the push and pull between them at their exhibition matches. He watched Garrett now balefully, his eyes trailing up and down Garrett’s body as if each pass would lower his defense by 1. It rather reminded Garrett of a typewriter, the way Tristan’s gaze would travel down to the bottom and then jerk back up to the top to start anew.

He snapped himself back to attention. Tonight wasn’t about paying attention to Tristan. Tonight, Garrett was here to _win._

Garrett’s pants eventually dropped all the way to the ground, seemingly sighing in relief at no longer having to confine his magnificent buttocks and thighs. He stepped out of them, revelling in the silky feeling of the lacy lavender lingerie that was cradling his cock. No doubt that he had prevailed this round; there was no way that _Tristan_ could outdo the splendid picture Garrett made now. He struck a pose and contracted his muscles, flexing on Tristan. 

But lo! Tristan was doing a handstand —face turned away so he wasn’t even _looking_ at Garrett’s flex, the bastard—and before Garrett’s eyes he began to fold in half. When Tristan’s ankles were level with his forearms, he shifted onto one hand and, as his legs looped underneath him, _pulled off his pants by the hems._

It was a feat of extreme strength. It was masterful. It was artistry. It was the _damn most annoying thing_ that Garrett could never have imagined. What the hell kind of mind thought of stripping acrobatically? An irritatingly brilliant one, that’s what.

What’s more, Tristan’s underwear were a pale rose petal pink that seemed coordinated with his own, so well did the two hues complement each other. Garrett gritted his teeth and sauntered heavily over to Tristan, who looked down at him with amusement dancing in his eyes. The smirk caused Garrett’s lips to tighten in displeasure even as he sensuously dipped two fingers under the elastic waistband of Tristan’s boxer briefs, sliding them down until they slipped soundlessly to the floor. His face heated with (des)ire even as his hands came up to cradle Tristan’s balls and slowly pump his flaccid noodle into a gargantuan erection.

Next, Tristan returned the favor. His hands teased at Garrett’s buttocks, toying with the lace edge of the lingerie, before tugging the lavender down and tossing it aside carelessly. As if his favorite underwear that he’d been wearing tonight _didn’t even matter!_ Even as Garrett moaned and twisted his fingers in Tristan’s inky black locks, Garrett saw red. Tonight was the night. Tristan was going _down._

As prophesied, Tristan remained on his knees and took a quick suck of Garrett’s pelvic popsicle before pulling him down to take their positions on the floor. Garrett lay on his side mirroring Tristan, their hands braced on each other’s shoulders. The two of them stilled, fully stiff, waiting for the signal.

A referee emerged from the tire shadows, a cat o’ nine tails gleaming wickedly in the low light. “Gentlemen and gentlethem,” they greeted. “Are we ready to begin tonight’s torrid tourney?” 

The crowd cheered, but quietly, in case their illegal sex arena got busted by the homeowner’s association meeting going on next door. 

“Let us commence, then. _Allez!”_ The cat o’ nine tails cracked wickedly on the floor, and Garrett and Tristan both _thrust._

 _"TOUCHÉ!"_ crowed Garrett, his penis having gotten a clean jab at Tristan's hip. 

"Oh, I'll get you next time!" Tristan snarled, that mask of arrogance finally broken. _"En garde!"_ He thrust his hips up with the fervor of an erupting volcano, his erection moving back into position with practiced ease.

Garrett assumed his own position, the referee cracked the whip, and they were off again. Tristan whipped his fleshy foil with intention now, not willing to let Garrett slip past his defenses again. As Garrett parried and thrust, Tristan parried and thrust with equal ferocity, the two of them locked in a battle of wits and shafts, and the crowd was eating it up. 

“Left! Get him in the left!”

“No!”

“Wait, is this épée, saber, or foil style?”

“Ohhh, nice cock block!”

“It’s called a _parry,_ you utter pleb, honestly, are you new here?”

“Dude, gatekeeping is _not_ cool. Stay in your lane.”

“Watch out, he’s coming in on your right!”

This last voice proved to be correct—Tristan saw an opportunity and grasped it by the horns, the tip of his squishy glans jabbing firmly into the crease of Garrett’s thighs. The sensation of a marshmallow-coated block of lead forging into intercrural sex territory was both overwhelmingly arousing and endlessly infuriating. 

“TOUCH-FUCKING-É!” Tristan pumped a fist in triumph then pumped Garrett’s penile missile for good measure.

“Penile-ty,” the referee declared with a bored air. “Hands off or you don’t _get_ off. Yellow card.”

“Worth it,” Tristan chuckled. His eyes locked with Garrett, and the bastard _winked._ “Ready to lose?”

Garrett elected to ignore him. “En garde already,” he muttered, moving his hands back into position on Tristan’s shoulders.

The match carried on, interrupted only once by the screaming couple in the quadruple tires as they lost control of their momentum in their moment of ecstasy. Tristan and Garrett didn’t even blink at the commotion, completely concentrated on their competition. Not even the intrusion of two of the sex tires into the arena, having broken loose from the copiously copulating couple’s rotating sex cocoon, registered to them. 

Their minds were as one. Each of Garrett’s thrusts was countered by one of Tristan’s own. One round passed, then two. Garrett had three points and Tristan had six, then Tristan had six points and Garrett had nine, then they swapped positions and were neck and neck at fourteen points. 

The referee cracked their cat o’ nine tails and announced the start of the third round of three minutes. Unwilling to miss a second of action, the crowd quieted, tense, everyone leaning forward in their seats. Even the couple in the tires were still, but that was likely because they had both attained their peaks and descended. They lay now in their two tires, too tired to do much else than watch the match.

In spite of his best efforts, Garrett just couldn’t win that last point of Tristan. His opponent had long lost his air of arrogance, his eyes narrowed in focus as he kept up with each of Garrett’s thrusts and parries. Garrett was painfully aware of time passing. Each second that ticked past brought him closer to a future where once again, just like every other week, the two of them ended up in a tie. Unfortunately, he was already at the limit of his ability. It was all he could do to keep Tristan from scoring the last point that would spell defeat for him, let alone score the point himself.

Desperate, Garrett dipped his hips low and thrust up more powerfully than ever before. At the same time, Tristan went for a forceful lunge. His purple-headed yogurt slinger dug deep into Garrett’s belly in the same instant that Garrett’s super long schlong sank headfirst into Tristan’s hole. This was also how Garrett discovered that Tristan must have lubed and prepared himself prior to their match just as Garrett himself did on Tristan nights. 

He had no time to consider Tristan’s pre-round preparations because the referee was speaking. “Tie,” they declared.

“WHAT!” screamed one onlooker.

“Foul, foul!” another exclaimed indignantly. “That’s got to be out of bounds!”

The referee cracked their whip menacingly on the ground, and the crowd obediently quieted down while they angrily whispered to each other about their own interpretations of the winner.

Garrett was only vaguely aware of the heated discussions as he was in the midst of heat himself. The majority of his brain cells were occupied with the intense soft and slick surrounding his dick. Unable to help himself, his hips began to thrust minutely, his body seeking the pleasure it sensed just beyond the tip of where his shaft was shoved.

Tristan’s quiet moan cut through his thoughts like an arrow. Unwanted awareness flooded back in, and Garrett registered that Tristan was rubbing his own prickolo against Garrett’s belly while rocking himself back onto the pulsating python splitting him in half. The realization that he was giving himself over to his nemesis in the middle of the sex arena struck him like lightning, and Garrett pulled out. Ignoring the booing of the audience, he gathered his clothes and stepped over to the back room.

He was acutely cognizant of Tristan following closely. As the door closed with a snick! behind him, he was already sinking to his knees to welcome Tristan’s cock into his mouth. 

_Next week,_ Garrett thought, his hand tangling with Tristan’s as the two of them sought release. _I’ll get him next week for sure._

**Author's Note:**

> Garrett and Tristan are basically inserts from [the nemesis comic by Kate Beaton](http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=327)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Comments give me life, especially if they are about which of the Horrible Dick Euphemisms takes the Crown 😂


End file.
